A Bird in a Gilded Cage
by MelissaMargaret
Summary: What do you do when the world as you know it falls apart and you're forced to begin anew? A tale of freedom and strings, roses and dreams… And the end of the Progressive Era. Rated M for love at first sight and a series of unforgettable nights.
1. Part Un

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. The author of this story in no way profits from its use or distribution.**

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><p><em>She's only a bird in a gilded cage,<em>

_A beautiful sight to see,_

_You may think she's happy and free from care,_

_She's not, though she seems to be,_

_'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life,_

_For youth cannot mate with age,_

_And her beauty was sold,_

_For an old man's gold,_

_She's a bird in a gilded cage._

From _A Bird in a Gilded Cage_ – Arthur J. Lamb (1901)

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><p><strong>October, 1929<strong>

The streetcars flew by outside her small dressing room window as Esme slipped the long strand of pearls over her neck. It wasn't far into the evening, but already the city outside buzzed with excitement.

Early evening had always been her favorite part of the day – the time between her lazy days and busy nights.

She stepped back from the vanity and examined herself in the mirror. The sequins on her costume shimmered in the light, making her look every bit the part of the angel she was getting ready to perform.

It wasn't the greatest job in the world. Esme knew that. But in a strange city, far from home, with no one left to depend on, she had to pick and choose her battles. The lead role in a backstreet show was better than no job at all.

A familiar hint of red caught her eye as she was adjusting the finger waves in her hair, making sure everything was ready for the moment she would step on stage. She turned to the small side table and picked up the single stem rose, smiling as she pinned it to her dress.

Every night for the last six months Esme had come into her dressing room to find a rose on her dressing table. There was never any note, and she had no idea who they came from, but whoever it was had her gratitude for making her smile before every show.

She knew it made Charles angry to see the flower pinned to her costume, but she didn't care. Esme loved the support of the regular patrons at the club and if one of them wanted to spoil her with roses, she was going to show her appreciation.

Esme smiled as she stared at the rose in her reflection, so lost in her thoughts that the sharp knock on the door made her jump.

"Come in," she said.

The heavy door creaked loudly as tiny Alice Brandon pushed it open.

Her large black eyes widened as she looked at Esme. "I thought Charles told you not to wear the roses on stage anymore."

"He did. I'm not listening."

"Esme, you shouldn't anger him. I don't like seeing you afterwards."

Alice's face was pained as she gazed pleadingly at her friend, causing Esme's heart to constrict. She hated causing Alice to worry needlessly, but the young girl was so new to life on stage and could be naïve at times.

Just like so many of the other girls who performed in the city's many clubs, including Esme herself, Alice had come to New York with stars in her eyes. Unlike Esme, Alice's enthusiasm for what they did had yet to fade.

She knew well enough exactly what happened to Esme when Charles became angry, but Alice's black and white view of the world warped her perception. She felt that if Esme would simply listen to him things would be all right. Alice's view of Charles as the owner of the club, and therefore her boss, colored her view of Charles and Esme's relationship, if one could even call it that.

Esme, however, knew that things weren't always what they seemed, and the world was full of shades of gray – and even black and blue.

She walked over to Alice and stroked her cheek. "You shouldn't worry so much, Alice. I can handle Charles."

"I do worry about you, Esme. And with good reason. I know he isn't perfect but Charles takes care of you, and who knows who this man is who keeps leaving you flowers. He could be anyone."

_Exactly_, Esme thought. He could be anyone who wasn't Charles.

It wasn't that Esme didn't count her blessings. She knew she could be far worse off than she was. The fact that Charles owned the club meant that Esme was the top billed star of every show; a fact that had earned her sinister looks from the other girls in the beginning.

She had started as a simple dancer, in the back line, surrounded by a dozen other women. She blended in and faded to the background. She considered it a miracle she had caught Charles' eye at all. She had never even met him while trying to obtain the job.

It was the night of her second show when Charles finally saw her for the first time. She knew he was the owner without having to be told, but she couldn't imagine why he kept watching her.

There was nothing special about her, no matter how hard she had always fought to stand out.

Something in his eyes told her his intentions, though. Even despite her limited experience with men.

It took only one night for Charles to seduce her and make her the star of his show, throwing the former singer onto the street without a second thought.

Esme had been young and naïve. She fell for every promise Charles made to her, and as a result, she fell further and further under his control.

Even after she achieved her dream of being a lead performer, she continued to struggle in her new life.

She may have been the star of the show and the woman on Charles arm, but it took quite some time for Esme to earn her place among the other girls.

The women could be petty and prone to jealousy. Everyone was constantly struggling to make it to the top, whether in an individual show or in the business in general. For a boss to bring a new girl in and make her the star right away ignited envy in many a performer.

Esme's proved her worth as a performer whenever she took the stage. She had impressed the dancers with her voice and commanding stage presence. She knew no one expected any real talent from her, having had no prior stage experience. Esme knew what she could do, though, and she let her confidence show.

More people than ever began attending the club's shows to see Esme perform, and everybody who spent any amount of time in her presence fell for her instantly. She was too sweet and charismatic to be denied, having perfected the ideal stage personality over the years.

But the more people fawned over Esme, the more jealous and suspicious Charles became. It didn't take long for him to begin exerting control over Esme and to slowly break her down. Nothing she did was ever enough for him, and within a matter of months Esme simply stopped caring.

The stars faded from her eyes, and the harsh reality of life set in. She had money, and a small amount of notoriety, but she didn't have the things she came to New York in search of. She had no family and no real friends.

The dancers liked her well enough, but she could always see the hesitation behind their eyes – the slight hint of jealousy that they kept to themselves, never wanting to cause a rift in the group.

The more united they were off stage the better their performance was on stage.

Only Alice lacked the jealousy that the other girls kept at bay. She was so young – only eighteen – the same age Esme had been when she first arrived in the city.

It fascinated Esme how similar their stories were. Both had no family at all, both had grown up in orphanages, both had witnessed conditions in those orphanages they would never speak of, and both moved to the big city the moment the opportunity presented itself.

Alice had yet to be worn down by the life she had chosen, but Esme knew it was only a matter of time. She wished there was some way to warn Alice not to be fooled by their lifestyle's false façade of glamour, but it would do no good.

Life was harsh, and Alice would have to learn that truth herself if she were to succeed on the path she had chosen for herself.

**oOoOoOo**

The heat from the lights and the excitement of the audience always flowed through Esme like a current when she performed. The feeling of being on stage was electric, and for just those few minutes of each show she could forget everything and be someone else.

Though the life of a performer was now a disappointment to Esme, the thrill of the performance itself had yet to fade. She always felt the same rush of nervous energy the second before they stepped on stage, the heart stopping moment of seeing the audience for the first time, just before they began their number, and the pure wonder and amazement at the end, when the spectators applauded a job well done.

Everything about it still inspired the same giddy excitement in Esme that it always had. It was her most fervent wish that it always would. The thrill of the performance was all she had left to hold onto.

She touched the red rose that was still pinned to her dress as she walked down the stairs behind the stage at the end of her show. She smiled widely at the thought that somewhere in that audience, there had been one person who had seen the real Esme through the smoke and mirrors of her performance.

The winding basement corridors silently carried her toward her dressing room. She slipped inside, still on a high from the standing ovation their performance had received.

All residual excitement evaporated as soon as she turned around and saw Charles sitting on the long sofa, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees.

"That was a strong performance tonight, darling."

Esme nearly winced at the way he sneered the term of endearment, but she was determined to hold her ground. She knew she had been treading dangerous waters by pinning the rose to her dress when she had been warned against it.

She was prepared to face the consequences.

"Thank you," she said stoically.

Charles smiled, and to anyone else it would have looked genuine, but Esme saw the threat behind it. "Come here, love. You deserve to rest for a moment."

Esme confidently made her way to the couch, determined for Charles not to see her panic. The moment she took a seat beside him, he slid one arm over her shoulder and used the other to pull the rose free from her dress. He twirled it between his fingers for several moments, watching it move with a fascinated look. Esme would have wondered what he found so interesting were it not for the malice behind his eyes.

She knew that look well. Charles couldn't handle any man even glancing at Esme when she wasn't on stage. The thought of someone thinking about Esme outside of the theater was too much for him. And the harsh_reality _that some unknown man entered a florist's shop with the sole intention to purchase a rose for her made Charles feel threatened.

Charles was a dangerous man when he perceived a threat.

"I seem to recall telling you to stop altering your costume, Esme. These dresses are expensive. The club cannot afford to incur the cost of any damages."

Esme almost laughed. This was Charles' way of doing things. He would come up with any excuse necessary to make sure what he wanted was done without it making him look like the bad guy.

She could have easily antagonized him further and truly spoken her mind, but she knew she could also make her feelings known while still being prudent.

"I don't see the harm in it, Charles. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation, and we both know it doesn't actually damage the costume in any way."

Charles breathed in deeply, trying to keep himself calm, but Esme noticed his left eye begin to twitch.

"You do understand how good you have it here, don't you?" he asked, his voice dipping to a menacing tone. "I make you the star of my show, I allow you to sleep in my bed, I take you to all the finest places in the city, and I am constantly introducing you to influential people. And all I ask for in return is one simple thing, Esme. That you not embarrass me in any way."

"I fail to see how my wearing a rose on stage could possibly embarrass you. For all the audience knows it could be from you."

Esme could tell Charles' struggle to maintain his composure was beginning to crack, but still he remained calm. His voice was quiet and measured when he replied, but the threat was still there.

"The other girls know. That's enough for me."

He didn't need to say it, but Esme knew Charles well. It wasn't the girls knowing that made him angry. It was a member of the audience knowing where the rose came from that set Charles on edge.

"Do you enjoy this little game of yours, Esme?" he continued. "Do you enjoy parading around my club with another man's rose pinned to your dress, like some common whore?"

That was the moment Esme had been waiting for. Charles' composure had finally cracked. There would be no more playing nice now, but she still wouldn't back down.

"Only you think that, Charles," she replied confidently.

Charles' lip quivered as he finally snapped. The hand that rested on Esme's shoulder firmly grabbed the back of her neck and quickly pulled her forward.

"You will stop this insolence, Esme," he hissed. "Or you will lose _everything_ I have given you, and you will be very sorry indeed."

He roughly pushed her forward onto the floor and stepped over her, turning to gaze at her crumpled body until she looked up and met his eyes. "Enjoy your roses, darling, but never forget that I am the one who made you, and I can just as easily break you."

With his final warning, Charles stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Esme alone with the fear that she would never show. She knew the double meaning behind his words. Charles could easily break her – in more ways than one.

She pulled herself off the floor and moved to the vanity to examine her neck. Charles had never hurt her enough to leave a mark before. He never wanted to provide grist for the gossip mills and possibly damage his reputation, but Esme always checked to make sure there would be nothing for people to notice.

There was a rim of light purple around the back of her neck, but she knew from experience it would fade overnight.

Esme didn't know how long she sat in front of the mirror, trying to recall how her life had come to be the way it was.

She remembered being reasonably pretty as a child. Her hair had always been the most unusual shade of light brown and her green eyes had always been large and expressive. If anything, her appearance had caused her to stand out more than her personality did at the orphanage.

As a teenager, Esme was amazed that she had never been adopted, given how different she was and how much she stood out amongst the other children. But the owners of the orphanage often reminded her that people wanted well-behaved, subservient girls for whom it would be easy to find a suitable match.

That had certainly never been Esme. She would never deny that she was free spirited and outgoing – perfect for life in the big city. The day she was shown the door of the orphanage, she boarded a train to New York and never looked back.

It pained her to sit at her dressing table and stare into the lifeless eyes of a girl who had once held so much hope for her future.

Esme sighed as the door behind her was hesitantly pushed open without a knock. Alice's large black eyes gazed at her in concern and pity. The look made her cringe. She didn't want anybody's pity.

Alice mistook Esme's expression for one of pain and immediately ran across the room to her.

"What did he do?" Her voice was panicked, and Esme knew Alice wouldn't leave until she was sure her friend would be alright.

"I'm fine, Alice. He didn't hurt me."

"There's a bruise on the back of your neck," Alice pointed out.

Esme shook her head. "It doesn't hurt, Alice. I'm fine."

She knew Alice didn't believe her, but all Esme wanted was to crawl into bed and forget about her confrontation with Charles. The knowledge that Charles would be there made her desire to return to the spacious uptown apartment sound absurd, but Esme didn't care.

He had made his threat, and that would be the end of it until the issue came up again. That was the name of the dance they had always shared. Any confrontation at the club was always a thing of the past by the time they both went to bed.

Esme never forgot the arguments she and Charles had, but she knew it was always best to let these things go. It was the only way she would still have her job the next day.

**oOoOoOo**

Things went much the same for the next week. Every night Esme found a rose on her dressing table. Every night Esme pinned the rose to her costume, and every night Esme incurred Charles' wrath for continuing to defy his orders.

Every night she smiled to herself as she walked up the steps to the stage, catching Charles' disapproving glare as she passed. And every night her eyes scanned the crowd, wondering which man could be the one leaving her flowers.

The small backstreet club had several regulars who she knew were contenders, but there were also several men who didn't come every night but came often enough to still be possibilities.

The next Friday night, the moment she began to sing, Esme spotted a man she had never seen before. He was sitting in the very back of the theater, watching her like he couldn't look away.

He appeared to be uncomfortable in the club, and wore a paperboy hat, indicating he didn't wish to be seen by anyone he might know.

She smiled as she watched him. His green eyes were electric. They were nearly the same shade as hers, but something about them made her heart race. It was like he was devouring her with those emerald green eyes, but not in the lascivious way Charles did. Nothing about his gaze made her feel cheap or dirty.

She performed the best she ever had that night, never letting her eyes leave the stranger in the back row, as she poured her whole heart into every word. She could not understand how someone she had never seen before could have such a profound effect on her.

Alice raised her eyebrows at the wide smile that spread across Esme's face once they were all backstage again.

"I haven't seen you smile that wide in quite a while."

Esme turned to where Alice was leaning against a wall, watching her intently.

Esme simply shrugged. "It was a good performance."

Alice nodded. "Yes it was. You did an amazing job. You were much more energetic than I've ever seen you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it looked almost like you were singing to someone in the audience." Esme noticed Alice's eyes linger a second longer than normal on her rose.

"That's ridiculous, Alice. I'm just feeling better than normal tonight."

Alice wasn't convinced, but there was never any arguing with Esme. She simply shrugged, letting it go. "Whatever it was, keep it up. Tonight was incredible."

Esme nodded, smiling widely. "Thank you, Alice."

The smile faded from Esme's face the moment she felt the ice cold grip of Charles' hand on her shoulder.

"Alice, may I borrow Esme for a moment?"

His voice was sickly sweet as he steered Esme to a private corner of the basement dressing area. Esme tried not to let it bother her that Charles' eyes lingered on Alice longer than appropriate, or that he lifted her chin and ran his finger along her jaw as he simultaneously held Esme's arm in a death grip.

Charles acted suave and charming with the girls, but they all knew his true nature. He tried to hide the way he treated Esme, but none of the dancers were blind.

There were some things that could never be fully hidden.

Once they were in the small corridor that led to the alley door Charles roughly turned Esme to face him, never releasing his hold on her arm.

"Who were you singing for tonight, Esme?"

"No one."

His voice hardened. "I have a very hard time believing that, dear."

Esme knew he was trying to intimidate her. She would never let him win. She held her head high and stared Charles straight in the eye as she answered.

"I do my job, Charles. I make my living entertaining that audience, and that's all it is. Entertainment. No more, no less."

Charles was silent for several moments. Nothing could be heard but the steady sound of dripping water flowing through the pipes above their heads and the faint hum of the girls chatting in the other room, on a post-show high of excitement.

Panic rose steadily in Esme's chest with every second that ticked by in silence. Just when she was sure she could no longer keep her composure, Charles spoke.

"Why do you never sing for me, love?"

It wasn't exactly the response Esme had been expecting, but she knew she couldn't let herself be played directly into Charles' hands.

"What makes you think I don't?"

He smirked. "Do not toy with me, Esme. And do not _ever_ insinuate that I am stupid." He gestured around them. "You used to have so much love for this place, darling. Where did it go?"

Esme could feel the cracks form in the wall she had put up. She knew the break was now inevitable. She knew Charles' next words would be the linchpin that broke the floodgate on her control.

"Where did your love for me go?"

A single tear slid down Esme's cheek as the young orphan who would always be trapped inside her made her presence known, banging on the walls of her heart – _desperate_ to be freed and demanding to be loved, no matter how flawed that love was.

She was now fully under Charles' control and he knew it.

"Go home, Esme. I have business to finish here."

And with one final shove she was swiftly dismissed from Charles' presence.

She stumbled out the side door that led to the alley, not even bothering to care that she still wore her costume, nothing but an overcoat protecting her from the biting chill of the wind.

She hugged the coat around her and bent her head against the cold as she walked slowly down the alley.

"Are you all right?"

Esme's head snapped up at the sound of the gentle voice coming from near the sidewalk. She found herself staring into a familiar pair of ethereal green eyes, framed by familiar blond hair, under a familiar tweed hat.

He was the mystery man from the back row. The man who had summoned such an unnaturally strong performance from her not half an hour before.

He was leaning against the building with one foot pulled up, resting against the brick. He held a cigarette between his fingers, and was eyeing her curiously.

Esme couldn't help but immediately catalog all the ways he was different from Charles. He certainly wasn't as refined, but he didn't come across as a threat. He appeared gentle, almost broken as his piercing eyes scanned her face.

"Miss?"

"I-I'm fine," she stuttered in answer to his question.

"You don't seem fine," he replied, offering her a cigarette.

Esme didn't have a habit of smoking and had never done so without using one of the long stems that were so fashionable in the jazz clubs and speakeasies, but something about the strange man made her brave enough to try.

She watched his long fingers as he lit the cigarette. They were slender but were obviously no strangers to hard work. She imagined he had likely made his living in the meat packing yards at one point – a world away from Charles' life, with his brandies and cigars in the smoking room every night, discussing nothing but politics while trying to hide all his dirtiest secrets from the men who ran New York City.

"You don't regularly come to shows," she said, unable to think of anything else.

He shook his head. "No. I've seen you perform once before, though."

Esme took a long drag of her cigarette, relishing how it felt to smoke in a way Charles would never have allowed.

"And did you enjoy this evening's performance?"

"I did. You put on a beautiful show."

_Beautiful._

It was certainly not the word that Esme would have used to describe what she did every night. She had sold her soul to the devil for a brief bout with a small amount of fame, and she was paying for it dearly.

With every inch that the chains of Charles' control over her tightened, every performance became sullied in her eyes.

It had been a long time since anything Esme had done had been beautiful to her.

"Thank you," she said, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of attire.

"You're welcome," was his simple reply.

"May I ask the name of the man who gives such sweet compliments?"

He smiled softly and it took years off his face, making him look like a young boy. "It's Carlisle."

"Carlisle," she repeated. "It suits you."

He laughed. "And may I ask yours?"

"Esme," she replied, raising her hand to shake his.

He surprised her by instead grasping her hand and raising it to place a kiss on the back of her palm. Something about the rough texture of his palm sent a thrill of delight through her body. She knew she held the hand of a man who made his living in an honest way.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Esme."

"Likewise," she said, smiling widely.

"You have a beautiful smile."

Esme couldn't help but blush at his observation and continued use of the word 'beautiful'.

"And you give wonderful compliments."

"Well," he replied. "I would hate to see the sadness I saw before return to such an angelic face."

Esme's face fell slightly at the thought of the anger Charles had expressed earlier. He had told her to go home, and he would be absolutely livid if she wasn't there when he arrived.

"I have to go," she said, as she hurriedly stomped her cigarette out.

"Why?" The confusion on Carlisle's face only served to punctuate Esme's despair at having to depart from his company.

She had never enjoyed a man's presence as much as she did the company of this man she didn't even know and had only spoken to for a brief moment.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really have to leave."

The hurt in his eyes only served to cause her more pain as she rushed down the sidewalk toward the apartment she shared with Charles, knowing the look in those bright green eyes would haunt her forever.

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><p><strong>Today is my birthday and this is my gift to all of you who have read and supported my writing for the last year. I love every one of you. It floors me that you all take time out of your days to read and review my updates, and you always leave me such kind words that I cherish. Thank you. <strong>

**This will be a short ficlet and will be somewhere between three and five chapters. But knowing me it could end up being closer to fifty. Maybe if you coerce me. **

**Thank you to my twin, Mackenzie L. for editing this for me and to kr2009 for pre-reading and writing with me. **

**And a special thank you to texasunshine for attempting to spend my birthday with me even though your car seems to not approve. You're here in spirit. ILY.**

**Mackenzie made a beautiful banner for this that can be seen on my profile.**

**Part two on Friday! I would love to hear what you think of my new little endeavor. These two mean a lot to me, and so do all of you. I love hearing from you guys. **


	2. Part Deux

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. The author of this story in no way profits from its use or distribution.**

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><p><em>The ballroom was filled with fashion's throng,<em>

_It shone with a thousand lights,_

_And there was a woman who passed along,_

_The fairest of all the sights,_

_A girl to her lover then softly sighed,_

_There's riches at her command;_

_But she married for wealth, not for love he cried,_

_Though she lives in a mansion grand._

From _A Bird in a Gilded Cage_ – Arthur J. Lamb (1901)

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><p>The night she walked away from the kindest stranger she had ever met, Esme had been plagued by the fear she might never see him again. She found herself thinking about him all night, tossing and turning while Charles slept soundly beside her – blissfully unaware that the chains of his control over Esme were slowly beginning to unravel.<p>

Trust was not something that came easily to Esme. She had grown up in a cutthroat world where standing out at all costs was vital to survival. Other people were a threat and could never be trusted.

Yet, from a single conversation, Esme found herself questioning the things she had always believed.

When the mysterious man in the tweed hat returned to the club the next night, Esme was shocked to see him, thinking that she had frightened him away with her abrupt departure the night before.

But there he sat, in the same seat in the back row, watching her with the same piercing eyes and the same fiery expression.

It seemed like the more intensely he watched her, the more powerful a performance she gave.

The small club was only a step above burlesque, and Esme knew men came for cheap thrills, but that night she felt as if she had given a real performance for the first time in her life.

It was what she had come to New York for in the first place – to be a real singer. Not to dance and sing suggestively for men who should have been home with their wives. But when the opportunity presented itself she couldn't say no, and the first time she stepped on the stage she knew she loved what she did, shameful or not.

A new dancer Charles had hired was performing with them for the first time that night. As she exited the stage at the end of the night, Esme could see the stars in the girl's eyes.

Something about it made her skin crawl.

She was tired of the constant parade of young girls looking for something they would never find, in a place that was equal to hell itself for Esme on most nights. She had love for what she did, but she hated it at the same time. Charles had destroyed it for her piece by piece and bruise by bruise.

As the girls began changing, Esme's mind drifted back to the club's mysterious new patron, Carlisle. She turned his name over and over in her mind. She had told him his name suited him, and while in many ways it did, in many ways it also didn't.

It was a regal name – one that inspired images of the countryside, and long forgotten English nobility. Certainly not images of the slums of New York, and cigarettes in back alleys, and tweed caps.

His name was strong, yet something about _him_ was broken.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but in a way she saw herself reflected back when she looked at him.

While on stage, staring only at him, she felt that they were kindred spirits in a way. Two people trapped in a place they both hated, desperate to be free, and seemingly anchoring each other to reality.

She pushed that thought from her mind as she sat at her vanity. They didn't even know each other. How could she feel so connected to someone she knew nothing about?

A knock on the door pulled Esme from her thoughts. Panic seized her chest at the thought that it might be Charles. She realized how absurd a thought it was when Alice pushed the door open.

Charles never knocked. He was the owner. He didn't need to.

Alice said nothing as she entered. She simply strolled to the sofa and sat down, watching Esme in the mirror.

Esme couldn't decipher Alice's expression, but the longer the silence stretched between them, the more concerned Esme became. She was bordering on near hysteria when Alice finally spoke.

"I saw him."

"Saw who?" Esme asked, praying she wouldn't receive the answer her heart knew was coming.

"The man you were watching in the audience. Who is he?"

Esme feigned ignorance. "What are you talking about, Alice?"

"I'm talking about the man in the back row who you were all but singing directly to who I've never seen before. You can't be that obvious, Esme. What if Charles becomes suspicious?"

Esme turned around to face Alice, her eyes falling to the floor. She couldn't bear the disappointed expression Alice wore.

"He already has."

Alice gasped. "Esme, you're playing such a dangerous game. Now who is he?"

"I don't really know," Esme replied. "He came to last night's show and I couldn't look away from him. It was like we were magnets. After Charles ordered me to go home I ran into him in the alley and he offered me a cigarette. That's all there is to tell."

Alice didn't look convinced but allowed the matter to drop.

"Esme, you know I always fear for you, but this is not good. It's too risky. If Charles caught this man watching you in the way you implied I don't doubt your new admirer would soon disappear."

Esme sighed. She knew every word Alice said was true. She needed to stop leading Carlisle on. It would only get them both into a world of trouble, and she didn't want to imagine the possible consequences for either of them.

Charles associated with several men who were of ill repute. She didn't doubt he could easily arrange a disappearance if he felt the need. Her fear of that possibility was one of the things that kept her tied to him.

"That's aside from the fact you don't even know this man," Alice continued. "What if he himself is just as much a danger to you as Charles is?"

Esme shook her head. "He isn't. I know how it looks for him to sit in the back by himself, never looking anywhere but at me, but he isn't dangerous."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know how I know," Esme replied with a shrug. "I just feel it."

"Well, regardless, it isn't smart for us to discuss him so openly here." Alice rose from the sofa and walked to the door. "Please go home, Esme. I saw Charles go into his office with some men right after the show. Please leave now before he comes out." Her voice lowered to just above a whisper but became almost desperate. "And I beg you, Esme, please be careful. Ask yourself if this new man is really worth the risk."

Esme nodded in order to allay Alice's fears, but she knew there was really nothing to worry about.

She wasn't planning on running away with a man she didn't even know. He was simply someone she felt could keep her sane in a life she was growing increasingly hateful toward – that was, if he kept coming.

Esme snuck out the back door after changing from her costume into her street clothes. She twirled the rose that had been pinned to her dress between her fingers as she walked down the alley toward the sidewalk.

Usually Charles had a car at her disposal that she would be given a ride home in by one of the men who worked for him, but tonight he had driven her himself, and so she would walk the three blocks to his apartment.

Charles would not be pleased that she had been out at night alone, even if it was such a short distance, but Esme had no wish to remain at the club any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"That's a beautiful rose you have."

Esme smiled as she turned and came face to face with Carlisle.

"You came back tonight."

He nodded. "I wanted to see you perform again."

"And did you enjoy the show?"

"Very much," he replied.

"And do you always haunt back alleys after watching similar performances?"

His eyes gleamed with mischief. "That's hard to say. I often smoke in alleyways, but I can't say it's very often I get out to enjoy some entertainment."

Esme cocked an eyebrow. "And yet I've seen you two nights in row now."

"You caught me," he said, smiling.

Esme leaned against the building as Carlisle offered her a cigarette, much like the night before.

"So," she said, taking a puff. "What is that takes up so much of your time and leaves you unable to take in the city's nightlife?"

He held his cigarette between two fingers and lifted both hands into the air in front of her, palms up. "Are you sure you want to know what it is these hands do every day?"

"I'm a big girl," she replied. "I'm sure I can handle it."

"They work the canning room."

Esme's eyebrows flew into her hairline. She had obviously been correct in her previous assumption about his occupation.

She had seen something broken inside him, and now she knew what it was.

His position didn't suit him at all. It was clear from looking at him that he worked hard, but there was such softness to him as well. She nearly shuddered, not wanting to imagine the horrors he had likely witnessed during his time in the yards.

Esme was anything but ignorant. She had a sharp mind and an unending thirst for knowledge. Charles hated for her to spend her free time lost in a book and tried to monitor what she read, but she always managed to sneak in things that would not meet his approval.

Charles hated so called "muckraking" and sensational journalism, and he would be enraged if he knew some of the things Esme had brought into his home, but it had never stopped her from learning all she could about important issues.

The words of Upton Sinclair swirled in her head as she watched Carlisle puff his cigarette. She knew things had improved since the book was published, but the thought of such a gentle soul experiencing even half of the horrors described in _The Jungle_ made her stomach turn.

"I shouldn't have told you," he said, shaking his head.

Esme placed her hand on his arm to reassure him. "No. I'm glad you did. I was only thinking that you shouldn't have to see the things I'm sure you see every day."

He shrugged. "We all do what we have to do, don't we?"

"I guess we do," Esme agreed.

So why is it that I can always find the star of the show walking through the alley after each performance?" he asked.

"I'm on my way home."

"How can anyone let such a beautiful woman walk home alone?"

"Well, my… Charles, the owner, usually has a driver take me to his apartment, but he drove us both tonight and I'm anxious to get home."

Carlisle's face fell slightly. "I see. Won't he be concerned about you?"

"I doubt he's noticed that I left."

"Well, I cannot in good conscience allow you to walk home by yourself in the dark. Please allow me to escort you."

"I'm hardly a china doll who needs protecting." Her voice held an edge that she didn't like, but she couldn't stomach the thought of someone seeing her as weak.

"I never thought you were," he replied. "But I would like a cup of coffee, and there's a diner right around the corner. It seems a waste to go alone."

Esme smiled. "I could use something to eat."

They walked into the small diner to find it essentially empty. Only an older gentleman sat in the corner, a cup of tea in front of him. His face scrunched as he watched Esme pass, no doubt disapproving of her modern dress and short hair.

She had seen the same look many times before, and even though many women dressed the same, Esme always felt as though people could see beyond the clothing and haircut when they looked at her. She felt they could see her very soul and would know what she did every night. She knew it was a ridiculous notion and that no one could judge her based on things they did not know, but the fear was always there.

She slid into a booth opposite Carlisle as he ordered a cup of coffee for himself, wisely choosing not to select anything for Esme.

"I'll have a slice of pie," she told the lady who had come from behind the counter to help them.

Esme felt a pang in her heart as she watched the older woman return to the counter to fulfill their orders. She was hunched over and withered, with the look of someone who had lived hundreds of years in a single lifetime. Esme thought she was likely an immigrant. Someone who likely came to America to make a better life for herself and found nothing but struggle and poverty instead.

More than that, though, she looked like what Esme envisioned a grandmother would be. Esme had always dreamed of having someone she could talk to about anything, who would offer the wisdom that came with age, but would never judge her harshly for the things she had done in her life. She wanted someone who would never let her feel the shame that often plagued her for jumping into Charles' bed in exchange for a career she was no longer sure she wanted. She needed to feel the love of someone who would comfort her when the emotional scars of abuse became too much to bear, but never make her feel like a child for being afraid.

Esme shivered as she watched the lady prepare her pie. If only she could have had someone like that in her life. She might not have ended up where she had.

Carlisle mistook her sudden movement.

"Are you cold?"

Esme's eyes snapped back to his. "Oh, no. I'm fine."

She watched as his gaze shifted to the left where the old lady was walking toward them. Esme knew he didn't believe her – he probably knew exactly what she was thinking.

He was _incredibly_ perceptive.

Esme looked down at the caramel pie that had been placed in front of her. She hadn't realized how hungry she really was.

"You're being rather quiet all of the sudden," Carlisle commented as she ate.

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. In reality Esme was feeling quite shy in the harsh light of the public diner without the dark of the familiar alley to protect her.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's quite alright. I imagine it's much easier to speak to a total stranger in the dark."

Esme wondered how he could have possibly known exactly what she was thinking until it occurred to her that it was fairly obvious. She chose not to respond, and continued to eat her slice of pie.

"How long have you been singing at the club?"

"Almost a year," Esme replied.

"Do you enjoy it?"

She nodded with fake enthusiasm. "I do. It wasn't easy to prove myself at first but eventually the girls took to me and we all get along great. I love getting up there every night and putting on a show. It's such a thrill."

He thought for a moment. "You're not from New York, are you?"

She shook her head. "Ohio. How did you know?"

"Because I see right through your tough girl act," he replied, leaning forward.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I do. You came here chasing dreams before discovering they were a little too big to reach."

"You think you have me figured out?" she asked, suddenly becoming defensive. "I suppose next you'll tell me about how I found some rich man to help me in my quest for stardom and when that didn't work out I ended up being nothing but an accessory for him to show off to his friends."

Carlisle was silent for a minute as he sipped his coffee, staring at her with his piercing gaze.

"Didn't you?"

Esme blew out the breath she had been holding and leaned back against the booth, all the fight knocked out of her. He truly did _see_ her. The things she was ashamed of, along with the good that resided somewhere deep inside her – for whatever it was worth.

"I'm sorry, Esme. I should never have said any of that." His voice was filled with regret as he spoke.

"No. You're right," she told him. She knew she couldn't hide from him. She didn't even want to.

"I've made some terrible decisions and now I'm paying for them."

"We all do things we aren't proud of, Esme."

She gestured for him to continue.

"I guess since I know your secret it's only fair I share my own. I was forced into a job at the yards to pay off a gambling debt. We all have secrets, Esme. You shouldn't be ashamed of yourself."

She sat up straight, the need to defend herself regardless of his correct assumptions returning.

"I'm not ashamed."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to be tough."

"Why is it so hard to believe that maybe I enjoy my life?"

He grinned. "Because you don't."

"And may I ask how you know this?"

He leaned back. "You told me I was right in what I said about your life."

"Yes, about the circumstances under which I came to New York and began singing in the club. You know nothing about _me_ or how I feel about myself." Her voice began rising the angrier she became, but Esme couldn't believe she was having such a discussion.

"Tell me how I was wrong."

His eyes sparkled and he was fighting the urge to smirk. He was _enjoying_ taunting her. It infuriated her that the man who had been so sweet to her could change so drastically.

"You just were," she said, placing her fork on her empty plate and rising from her seat. She knew she was acting childish but she turned and left without looking back.

She hadn't wanted him to see her as weak, and now he had. He had played on her worst fears and greatest regrets. She knew it had never been his intention, but it did nothing to change the fact someone had finally shown Esme her true self, and she didn't like what she saw.

She was halfway down the sidewalk when she heard him.

"Esme, wait!"

She hugged her coat around her body and kept walking, determined not to let her tears fall. He caught up to her and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. Even though she was angrier than she could express, Esme nearly choked at how gently he treated her. The pressure of his hand on her arm never made her feel threatened, and the apology in his eyes only served to reaffirm that her anger was for nothing.

He pulled her into the alley. "I'm sorry," he said. "I never meant to cause you any distress. You must believe me. My only intention was to show you that you weren't alone; that I _understand_you, Esme."

"Well you didn't have to be quite so harsh," she replied defensively.

"Yes I did. Harsh is all you know. I told you I see you, and I do. You wouldn't have understood if I had said it gently."

"How do you know?" she yelled. "You're so certain that you know me so well. We've met twice. You can't know anything about a person in such a short time. It's just not possible-"

"Yes I can," he said, pulling her to him and kissing her roughly.

The spark that flowed through Esme as Carlisle's mouth covered hers was like nothing she had ever felt before. She knew it was wrong, and she knew she should hate him for the things he had said and the way he kissed her so brazenly, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but the amazing way his lips moved with hers.

She felt the kiss through her whole body as Carlisle's fingers ran slowly through her hair. The gentle motion of his fingers was so different from the impassioned kiss it caused Esme to nearly collapse under the weight of her own emotion when it ended.

As Carlisle pulled away from her, allowing her the ability to think clearly, she nearly slapped him for his actions. But when she remembered he was, after all, the man who had labeled her so perfectly despite her every protest, she could do nothing more than stare at him.

She had never been kissed like that in her life, and watching Carlisle as he caught his breath, a look of sheer joy painted across his face, she realized she had never truly known _real_ passion before.

"Why did you do that?" she finally asked.

He shrugged, giving her a smug smile. "Because I wanted to."

"So you just do whatever you want?"

"_You_do," he replied simply.

"You are so infuriating! Why were you so nice to me only to turn around and be hurtful?"

"Are you saying you didn't enjoy the kiss?"

"That's beside the point."

"So you did enjoy it."

Esme threw her hands up. "I cannot believe you are the same man from the club. I would never have thought that man would do something so inappropriate."

"Oh, come on, Esme. That isn't what bothers you. What bothers you is that I made you feel something real, and it scares you."

Esme leaned against the building. She knew she couldn't fight him anymore. "What do you get out of it if I admit that you're right? Why are you so determined for me to admit that I destroyed my own life? I think I'm being punished for my mistakes enough as it is."

He stood on the other side of the alley for several moments watching her, the piercing gaze from earlier returning to his eyes.

Without speaking he crossed to where she was, slipped his hand behind her neck, and kissed her again. This time his lips slid across hers so gently she barely felt it. His kiss was feather light, reminding her of the way he had first smiled at her behind the club the night before. The rough texture of his hand on the smooth skin of her neck sent a chill down her spine as he deepened the kiss.

"Because I needed you to see how beautiful you really are," he finally said as their lips separated. He didn't move far, just enough to lean his forehead against hers. Esme wanted nothing more than to kiss him again as he gazed at her in amazement.

His gaze made her _feel_ beautiful. For the first time in her life Esme believed someone when they told her she was.

"I want you to kiss me again."

He grinned and nodded. "I want that too, Esme, but not tonight."

"When?"

"That's up to you. I'll be at tomorrow night's show. The rest depends on you. You need to make your own decisions and stop letting other people make them for you."

She nodded. "I know."

He rubbed her cheek with his thumb and lightly kissed her nose. "Go home and get some rest. Tomorrow I want to see the real Esme. Not the one everyone else sees."

Esme smiled as she walked to Charles' apartment, her thoughts swirling with the fight she had with Carlisle, and the kiss he gave her, and the second kiss, and his promise to see her the next day.

She was relieved to find that Charles had yet to return from the club. She sighed happily as she slipped into the spacious bed that was becoming more of a prison every day.

Thoughts of Carlisle continued to swim around her head as she pretended to be asleep when Charles finally came home, smelling of liquor and perfume that she knew didn't belong to any of the dancers. A single tear slid down her cheek as he slipped an arm around her and fell asleep.

Esme knew she would never be able to get any sleep in Charles' bed again. Not now that she was beginning to see her own worth more clearly.

**oOoOoOo**

"You look like hell, little one."

Esme smiled at the wizened old lady from the diner as she stepped inside the next morning.

"Where's your young man?" she asked in a thick accent as Esme took a seat at the counter.

"Oh, he's not…" Esme broke off, not knowing what to say.

The woman nodded. "I understand you. Now, you look like you could use a coffee."

"Yes, please. That would be wonderful."

"You had a rough night," she said while pouring two cups of coffee. She came around the counter, took a seat next to Esme, and patted her hand.

"You tell Isabella what's bothering such a beautiful child."

The look of pure warmth on the woman's face broke Esme's control immediately. She felt as though she might begin crying at any moment as the woman, Isabella, rubbed her arm. She fought back the tears she was unwilling for anyone to see and took a shaky breath.

"I was so stupid," she said, shaking her head. "I can hardly believe the mistakes I've made."

"Any mistake once made can always be righted."

Esme smiled as she sipped her coffee. "Life is not always that easy."

"Ah, that is true, child. You are wise beyond your years. But if one is truly repentant for one's actions one can always seek a new path. It is not an easy thing, but a well lived life never is."

Esme watched Isabella in wonder as they sat in silence. She couldn't help but wonder how old the woman was, although she would never ask. But something in her thick European accent and weathered face told Esme she had lived a hard life. And something in her sweet smile and knowing eyes told Esme she wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I came to New York looking for a better life, and I thought that I had found it despite the way he treated me, but I don't know anymore."

"I see," Isabella said. "So there is another man involved who is not the one you were in here with last night?"

Esme nodded. "The man I was with last night I only just met, and yet I know I can trust him. I know almost nothing about him, but I _feel_ that he would never hurt me the way Charles does."

"Oh I know he wouldn't. Carlisle has had a horrible life, but he doesn't have it in him to hurt a fly."

Esme's eyes widened. "You know him?"

Isabella laughed and smiled as she stirred her coffee. "I have known dear Carlisle since the day he was born. My husband convinced his father to take a job with him in the yards. A life no one wanted for young Carlisle, but one he fell into anyway."

Esme was silent as she thought over Isabella's story. Carlisle had told her the night before how he had ended up in the yards, but there was still so much left to hear.

"Why didn't I know that you knew him last night?"

Isabella shrugged. "He was a bit preoccupied with you."

Esme smiled. That was true. She briefly wondered how many girls Carlisle had possibly brought through the diner before, but she quickly dismissed that thought.

Carlisle wasn't Charles.

"I want to know him better," she whispered.

"You will," Isabella replied. "Young Carlisle does not allow people into his life easily. He sees something in you that he wants to be a part of. He won't abandon you."

Esme knew Isabella meant the words to say he wouldn't simply disappear, but she couldn't help but see their deeper meaning. Esme had been abandoned in more ways than one by everyone she had ever known. She knew Carlisle would be different.

"He came into my life so suddenly, and now he's made me rethink everything I thought made me happy before."

"From what you've told me it sounds like he arrived at just the right time," Isabella said. "Those roses he gives you don't hurt either," she added with a mischievous smile.

Esme dropped the spoon she had been stirring her coffee with. "It was him?"

Isabella nodded. "All along, dear child. He has admired you for months."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"That I cannot say. Perhaps he was hoping you would arrive at that conclusion on your own. Did you not think it could be him?"

Esme thought for a moment. She had never had cause to connect him to the roses before, having thought that a regular patron of the club was a far more likely candidate than someone who only visited sporadically.

But the more she thought over the last two days the more she realized she should have seen it coming.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Ah darling, because he has been enamored with the beautiful young singer from the club across the street since he first saw her perform. You fascinate him, young child."

"I do?"

"Have you not noticed the way he looks at you?"

"Well yes, but—"

"Trust your heart, Esme."

She almost asked how the old woman knew her name, but she knew the answer before the thought registered. _Carlisle._

Esme smiled to herself at the thought of him sneaking into her dressing room every night for months to leave her a rose. He knew how it made her smile. His words from the night before rang in her mind.

_You have a beautiful smile._

As she finished her coffee and thanked Isabella she vowed to ask him that night why he was so determined to make her smile all the time. She suspected she already knew the answer. After all, he _had_ vowed to show her how beautiful she was.

* * *

><p><strong>Surprise! Yeah, I had these first two chapters prepared for two weeks already and managed to hold off of posting till my birthday, but I really wanted to share this second chapter now. <strong>

**Chapter three is not finished being written yet, but I intend to have it wrapped up by the end of the week. **

**Thank you Mackenzie, Lauren, and Kelley.**

**What do y'all think? I would love to hear from you!**


	3. Part Trois

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. The author of this story in no way profits from its use or distribution.**

* * *

><p><em>She's only a bird in a gilded cage,<em>

_A beautiful sight to see,_

_You may think she's happy and free from care,_

_She's not, though she seems to be,_

_'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life,_

_For youth cannot mate with age,_

_And her beauty was sold,_

_For an old man's gold,_

_She's a bird in a gilded cage._

_From A Bird in a Gilded Cage –_Arthur J. Lamb (1901)

* * *

><p>That night it did not surprise Esme to see the familiar green eyes and tweed hat in the audience. Carlisle smiled widely the moment the lights went up, and Esme felt a thrill go down her spine unlike anything she had ever felt while on stage.<p>

The memory of the way his lips felt on hers the night before spurred her performance and his parting words rang in her head. He wanted to see the real her, but whether he realized it or not, it was he himself who brought that out in her.

His belief that she was truly good made her feel good, and it was evident in the way she carried herself when he was present. The roses that had appeared on her dressing table every night, including the one pinned to her dress that night had begun the steady process of showing Esme she deserved more than she had. Now that she knew it was Carlisle who had been leaving her the flowers all along she knew she owed him far more gratitude than she would ever be able to show.

She didn't waste time lingering backstage after the show. As soon as she and the dancers had all shuffled down the steps behind the stage, Esme slipped out the side door and into the alley.

Carlisle turned the corner into the alley just as she shut the door.

He smirked. "Eager to see me?"

"Yes," she replied honestly.

"You were stunning up there tonight," he told her as he handed her a cigarette.

"Thank you," she replied softly.

He trailed the back of his finger across her cheek. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"

Esme nodded. "You wanted to see the real me perform."

"I think you accomplished that tonight."

She looked at him pleadingly. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "I loved seeing a different side of you. Oh, I have something for you." He reached into his coat and pulled out a long stemmed rose.

Esme blushed. "Isabella told you I knew, didn't she?"

"She did. She was quite excited, really, to be the one who told you."

"Would you have eventually confessed, or was I always intended to remain in the dark?"

"It was fun waiting for you to discover the mystery on your own, but I can't say I'm sorry that you now know." He grinned and leaned forward, pinning the rose to her dress next to the one she had worn on stage. The light brush of his fingertips against the top of her breast caused Esme's breath to hitch in her throat and a rush of heat to spread through her limbs.

She watched as they gently trailed over the top of her costume before moving down her arm till he held her hand in his. When she finally met his gaze his eyes were intense. They seemed to bore into her very soul, but she held his gaze, unable to look away even if she tried.

"You don't fear being touched," he observed.

"Should I fear your touch?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head as he shifted closer, their faces now only inches apart. "Never," he whispered.

She shivered as the fingers on both his hands trailed up her arms. She had never felt safer than she did with Carlisle, and it terrified and excited her all at once. She felt alive with him.

"I want… I want you to kiss me," she muttered. "Please."

He nodded, leaning his forehead against hers and rubbing her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"I know," he replied.

Esme hardly had time to form a coherent thought before his lips met hers. The kiss felt so similar to the two they had shared the night before, but different at the same time. His lips slid over hers gently at first and then more insistently as he gained confidence.

One of his hands found the back of her neck as the other rested against her back. He pulled her closer to him, leaving no distance between them as his tongue gently swept over her bottom lip.

She gasped into his mouth and had to suppress a moan as she brushed against his prominent erection. He wanted her.

Esme wove her hands into the hair at the base of Carlisle's neck as they kissed, relishing in how good it felt to be treated so delicately. His hands found their way to her waist as he broke the kiss. He only pulled far enough away to lean his forehead against hers once more, keeping a tight hold on her waist.

"That was amazing," she whispered, struggling to catch her breath.

Carlisle tenderly ran the back of his hand down her jaw. "Yes it was. Everything about you is amazing, Esme."

"You don't have to say such nice things all the time, you know."

"Yes I do," he replied. "You don't hear often enough how wonderful you are."

"You don't know me," Esme whispered. "I'm not…" She swallowed hard. "I'm not a good person."

He tightened his hold on her as her head fell to his shoulder.

"I hate that you think that, Esme."

"Do you want to know why I don't fear being touched?" she asked. "It's because I have a terrible habit of jumping into bed with men just to get what I want out of them. Am I still a good person?"

Her voice was hard, even though the gentle pressure of his hands on her hips and his soft breath on her neck made her feel terrible for lashing out.

Carlisle lifted Esme's chin from his shoulder and studied her face for a moment before speaking.

"You've admitted as much to me before. What I think you fail to see is that it doesn't matter to me."

"The fact that I'm a whore doesn't matter to you?" she asked incredulously.

"That word is entirely subjective. I don't think that of you. And I don't want you to think it either."

She nodded. "I'm glad you came tonight, though. And I'm glad you kissed me."

Carlisle laughed as he once again traced his finger over the top of her dress. "I have to confess I want to kiss you every minute of the day, Esme."

"I want that, too."

"Will you meet me at the diner in the morning?" he asked. "Isabella makes an incredible breakfast."

"I would love that," she replied.

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. "Until tomorrow then, beautiful."

Even after Carlisle disappeared around the corner, Esme stood there fingering the roses pinned to her dress, unable to keep the large smile for curving her lips at the thought of seeing him again.

**oOoOoOo**

It wasn't difficult for Esme to slip away the next morning. Charles had come home drunk and was still passed out when she left him a note explaining that she was going to meet Alice for some shopping.

Alice loved to go to the shops downtown, and she always dragged Esme with her. Charles would usually hand her a little money and wave her off, not caring to hear about the finer details of a woman's day.

She knew he would likely be relieved to find her gone when he woke up. Esme was certainly glad she would be gone. Charles was the last thing she wanted to think about as she walked the short distance to the small diner.

"Good morning, child," Isabella said when Esme walked in. She was standing behind the counter, preparing a pot of coffee.

Carlisle spun around on the stool he was sitting on. He smiled widely and extended his hand to her.

Esme smiled and took a seat next to Carlisle at the counter. Isabella placed a cup of coffee in front of her. "So, young Carlisle tells me I am to make you breakfast this morning."

"He tells me you make quite a wonderful breakfast," Esme replied.

"I hope you haven't been boasting," Isabella said, swatting Carlisle on the arm with her towel.

Carlisle took a sip of his coffee. "It isn't boasting if I'm not talking about myself," he replied.

Isabella grinned approvingly and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Did you sleep well?" Carlisle asked, turning toward Esme.

She shook her head. "No. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Esme didn't know why she was revealing such a thing to him, but somehow she couldn't regret saying it either.

He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. "I can never stop thinking of you, beautiful."

Isabella returned with two large plates of eggs and bacon which she set in front of them before disappearing again.

Esme's curiosity got the better of her as she watched Carlisle rip a piece of bacon before eating it.

"Does it ever feel strange to you eating meat when you work with it every day?" Esme asked.

Carlisle thought for a moment. "I try not to think about it. Besides, the canning room isn't part of the normal process. It's more like the remainder."

Esme nodded. "So I've read."

"You're familiar with my job?"

"Vaguely," she replied. "Just because I lead a fairly simple life doesn't mean I'm not intelligent."

He laughed. "I never thought you weren't, Esme."

"I know," she said simply.

"Are you enjoying your breakfast?" he asked.

"It's wonderful. You were certainly correct in your assessment of Isabella's skill in the kitchen."

Carlisle took several bites before replying. "She's been feeding me since I was a child," he finally said. "I likely would have starved long ago if it weren't for her."

"She explained to me the other day that she has known you your whole life."

He nodded. "She lived next door to my parents. When my mother died, Isabella stepped in and raised me so I wouldn't have to go to work at such a young age. She insisted that I stay in school, even when my father insisted I join him in the yards. My mother never wanted that life for me, and Isabella tried to honor her wish. It worked for a while, but in the end it's impossible to stop what's inevitable."

Esme remained quiet as she thought over his words. She knew from Isabella that a gambling debt had pushed Carlisle into his job. What she couldn't fathom was how he had been forced to work one of the lowest jobs in the yards – one that was often reserved for immigrants.

"Are you finished?" Carlisle asked when Esme set her fork down.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm afraid I am too full to take another bite."

He laughed as he pulled a small wad of money from his pocket. "Yes, Isabella's food often has that effect."

He waved the money back and forth, catching Isabella's attention. "Don't you dare try to say no," he told her. "We ate an honest meal and I intend to pay for it. You know I can."

Isabella looked like she wanted to fight him on it for a moment, before her face fell and she conceded. "This one time, young Carlisle, but you know I don't charge those that are like family to me."

He nodded. "I know, but I do not like feeling as though I'm stealing from the restaurant."

"You know you aren't," she said with a wave of her hand. "Now you young ones go on and enjoy your day."

"Thank you for breakfast, Isabella. It was wonderful," Esme said as Carlisle picked up his coat and held out his arm for her.

She smiled as she slipped her arm through his. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Wherever you want, beautiful. That is, if you want to spend a little time with me."

His eyes were so full of hope she could never have turned him down. Her face flushed as she realized she never would have. She could think of nothing she would rather do than learn all she could about the man who had come into her life so suddenly and had already laid claim to her heart.

"I want to see where you live," she whispered, praying he would not find such a request to be too forward.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "It isn't much."

He was so humble it caused her heart to ache.

"I don't care, Carlisle. I want to know you better."

He stopped walking and turned to face her. He ran the back of his hand over her cheek and lightly kissed her forehead.

"Alright," he conceded. He reached down and grasped her hand in his as they continued to make their way down the busy street. The fact that he didn't seem to care if someone she possibly knew saw them sent a thrill through Esme and made her smile.

She was beginning to care less and less about the life she led at the club. It seemed a world away from her as she walked with Carlisle.

They turned a corner onto a smaller street that led to the slums where she knew he likely lived. Even though it was so close to the apartment she lived in with Charles, Esme had never been near this part of New York.

She gripped Carlisle's hand a little tighter, not wanting to admit her mild fear.

"Hello, Carlisle," a smooth feminine voice called from a doorway.

Esme looked up to see a woman standing there, watching them with a saccharine smile. She couldn't help but notice the way the woman looked Carlisle up and down with a gleam in her eye.

Carlisle, for his part, looked almost embarrassed as he tipped his hat politely and muttered 'hello' as they passed.

They turned another corner where a series of small houses and dilapidated multi-story buildings lined the street.

"Who was that woman?" Esme asked.

"Her name is Irina," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "She's… She's a prostitute."

"And you've visited her?"

"I'm hardly innocent, Esme."

"I never said you were."

He released her hand when they arrived in front of a small building that was haphazardly attached to the surrounding buildings by a series of unstable walkways. It looked to Esme like someone had taken each structure and cemented them together.

"You're not frightened are you?" he asked.

"Should I be?"

"No. But we do have to climb those stairs," he replied, nodding to a rickety staircase that scaled the side of the building.

Esme held her head high as they climbed the stairs and arrived on a small catwalk that ran around the building. She followed Carlisle to a door at the far end of the walkway, where a series of catwalks led to the surrounding buildings.

"Welcome to the slums," he said with a small smile as he unlocked and pushed open the door.

They entered into a small room that Esme could see was the entire apartment. There was a small kitchen with a table in the center, a door she assumed led to a bathroom, and a small bed in the corner. He had no sofa, but Esme couldn't imagine he spent enough time at home to miss having one.

"It's not much," he said as he shut the door behind him. "But it's mine."

Esme shook her head. "It's perfect," she said, turning to face him.

She reached out and rubbed his arm reassuringly as he hung both their coats on the coat rack behind the door.

"Do you really think so?" he asked, reaching out to take her in his arms. The way he held her, standing behind her with his arms around her waist and his warm breath against her neck made Esme feel safer and more protected than she ever had.

She loved that although he treated her so respectfully, he wasn't afraid to touch her the way she wanted.

"It's your home, Carlisle," she told him. "So yes, it is perfect."

"You said something about wanting to know me better," he whispered.

Esme smiled as she recognized the double meaning in his words. "I do," she replied.

"And what would you like to know?"

His fingers gently ran up and down the side of her neck. The smooth motion made her sleepy even as it set her every nerve on fire.

She turned in his arms and confidently pressed her lips to his. His hands found their way into her hair as hers wound around his waist, pulling him closer.

He moaned softly as his erection brushed against her.

"Would you deny me if I asked you to take me to bed?" she whispered against his lips.

"Is that what you want?" he asked softly.

She kissed him again, this time brushing against him on purpose.

"You want me," she said breathlessly as their lips parted once again.

She reached for the top button of his shirt and undid the first two before his hands gently wrapped around hers, stilling her motions.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't want you, Esme. I_need_you."

"Then have me."

"All of you?"

She nodded. "I never want to think of him again."

Carlisle lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He gently settled her back against the pillows and kissed her deeply as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him there.

"You're sure?" he asked. "This isn't just today, Esme. I want more than just this from you. I want you to have more of me."

"So do I, Carlisle. I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

He kissed her hard, pulling her off the bed and running his hands down the length of her dress. Esme stood and moved between his legs by the side of the bed. Carlisle ran his hands over the lace material of her dress as she slowly ran her fingers through his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, looking up at her.

"Because of you," she replied. "You make me feel beautiful."

The sunlight streaming through the grimy window beside his bed made his hair shine like a halo, and in that moment Esme knew he had been brought to her for this purpose. She had spent her entire life relying on her physical allure, but all it took was a series of nights in an alley behind the club to bring her to this point of realizing her true beauty came from within.

She vowed in that moment to spend every day showing Carlisle her gratitude.

His hands moved under her dress and slipped to the skin above her stockings. She gasped as his rough palms slid over the smooth skin of her thighs.

Unwilling to wait any longer, Esme shrugged out of her dress, earning a smirk from Carlisle when it pooled around her feet. He ran his hands up her legs, pulling her slip over her head and tossing it over the end of the bed.

He pulled her into his arms as she quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. Her hands moved over his shoulders, pulling down his suspenders.

Carlisle gently turned them and laid Esme down against the tattered old quilt. He quickly removed the remainder of his clothes while Esme watched him intently. He climbed onto the bed beside her and ran his fingers through her hair before leaning in to kiss her gently.

"You're really sure?"

Esme laughed. "Absolutely. Please stop thinking and just feel," she said, lifting his hand and placing it on her chest.

He grinned as he moved over her and began to trail kisses down the side of her neck and across her chest.

He only looked up when Esme sighed softly, a wide smile forming on her lips.

"You're happy here," he observed.

"I'm happy with you, Carlisle. We could be anywhere."

It didn't take him long to remove the remainder of Esme's clothes and move over her once more. Esme held her breath as he slid inside her, relishing in the way they fit together so easily – like they had been made to be with each other this way.

Her heart ached at the sheer emotion of it all. He held her so gently yet with such strength. No one had ever taken the time to ensure her comfort before, but every move Carlisle made was made with her pleasure in mind, not his own.

Esme's arm came up around his shoulder, anchoring him to her. She didn't even know how much time passed as they moved together. It could have been months and she never would have noticed.

Every gentle thrust, every sound, every sensation felt brand new to Esme, even though she had a great deal of experience. Being with Carlisle was so different from anything she had ever known before, and as she came undone in his arms she knew this was how it was always meant to be.

Carlisle followed shortly after, but instead of collapsing onto the bed like she expected, he lazily began trailing soft kisses down her throat and over her chest.

When he reached the curve of her breast she thought she heard a whispered 'I love you' against her skin. She didn't know if he had intended for her to hear it or not, but it brought a smile to her face nonetheless.

She knew his words were real, that they came from his heart, and that he meant them. No one had ever told her they loved her before. She wasn't exactly sure what she had expected to feel the first time, but she was blissfully happy and couldn't imagine feeling anything else.

She reached down and placed her palm on his cheek. He looked up, and when their eyes met she knew what she needed to say.

"I love you, too."

His answering smile was radiant.

He moved to lie beside her and pulled her to him, looping his arm around her shoulders. Esme pulled the tattered quilt up around them and kissed his chest once before pillowing her head on his shoulder.

"I didn't think you heard me," he said softly, kissing the top of her head.

"I did," she replied.

"And you didn't want to run away from me?"

"Never, Carlisle. The only thought I had was that I finally understood what love was supposed to feel like."

"What does it feel like?" he whispered into her hair.

"It feels like there is nothing in this world I want more than to see you happy."

"I am happy, Esme. You make me happy."

She smiled and fell silent – so relaxed that she felt as though she might fall asleep.

The small window on the other side of the room was open and a light breeze was blowing. The mid-morning sunshine filtered in, casting prisms of light across the hardwood floor, and the sounds of children playing and women gossiping floated up from the streets below.

Esme listened to it all, absorbing this new life and wishing she could spend every day right where she was – in a small bed in dingy apartment in the slums of New York with her head on Carlisle's chest.

"Carlisle?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think the other half ever experiences anything like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean in the middle of stuffy, boring tea parties with people they probably can't stand, do you think any of the wealthy ever have a moment as peaceful as this one?"

He laughed. "I wouldn't know. I've never been to a tea party. I can't speak to how peaceful one could possibly be."

She slapped his chest playfully and propped her elbow up to rest her head against it. "I'm being serious. I've never felt so relaxed and at home in a place before. I feel like I'm supposed to hate myself for what we just did, but I can't."

"That's the old you talking. You know I would never make you feel like less than the incredible woman you are. Those days are over, Esme."

She nodded and settled in against his chest once more. He rubbed her arm in silence for several moments before asking the question she herself had been wondering.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't want to confront him," she said. "But I can't walk away without any explanation. I don't owe it to him, but I do to the club if nothing else. I can't leave those girls with nothing."

"Whatever decision you make, I'll stand by you."

"Thank you, Carlisle."

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head. He softly brushed his lips across hers. "I love you, Esme."

**oOoOoOo**

That afternoon, upon returning to his apartment from a business appointment, Charles unlocked his door expecting to find Esme back from a day of shopping. He expected to find her preparing for her performance at the club that night.

What he never expected to find was a closest void of any female clothes and a note slipped under his pillow.

_Dear Charles,_

_I can no longer pretend that I am happy with the life I have led with you. I will always be grateful for the opportunities you gave me__,__and I wish you no ill will, but I must move on with my life. I have discovered for myself that I do not deserve to be treated so harshly__,__and I am no man's personal property. I am sorry that you could not see me for all that I truly am, and I hope that one day you will find out what it means to really love someone – not to simply rule them._

_Best regards,_

_Esme_

Esme watched from the diner across the street as Charles exited the building and made his way to the club, a look of absolute fury on his face. She knew it wasn't over, even though she had held hope that her letter would appease him.

She turned to face the man she loved and was surprised to see him smiling.

"He's not very happy, is he?" Carlisle asked.

"No," Esme replied. "But I am. And whatever he has in mind does not bother me. I finally have what I was always searching for."

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><p><strong>One more chapter and this will be complete. <strong>

**Some quick housekeeping: FFN was not sending some updates last week so just in case anyone didn't receive an alert I did update AtR.**

**Thanks so much to Mackenzie and Kelley for their work on this chapter. And thank you for reading!**


	4. Part Quatre

**A short epilogue...**

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. The author of this story in no way profits from its use or distribution.**

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><p><em>She's only a bird in a gilded cage,<em>

_A beautiful sight to see,_

_You may think she's happy and free from care,_

_She's not, though she seems to be,_

_'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life,_

_For youth cannot mate with age,_

_And her beauty was sold,_

_For an old man's gold,_

_She's a bird in a gilded cage._

_From A Bird in a Gilded Cage –_Arthur J. Lamb (1901)

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><p>It was somewhat surprising to Esme how easily she slid into her new life with Carlisle. She loved him without a doubt, but she thought it would be difficult to give up the luxuries that had come with her previous life.<p>

Barely two weeks had gone by and already when she looked in the mirror she no longer saw someone who was willing to sell her own soul. She saw a woman who had everything she never knew she wanted, and was happier than she could have dreamed of being.

Despite the anger she had seen in Charles' face the day she left him, Esme no longer feared him. She had come to realize that he never truly held any power over her. It had been her own sense of self-worth holding her back all along.

Esme still held onto to small pieces of her former life – little things that still gave her happiness. A silver mirror that had been with her since her days in the orphanage, her train ticket to New York, even a small trinket Alice had given her.

She often laughed at how these fine things looked out of place in Carlisle's dingy apartment, but she wouldn't have traded where they lived for the world. It was the place where he made her his, and it would always hold some part of her.

She also still wore her beautiful lace dresses and fancy hats when they ventured out, but only because Carlisle liked them so much. She was becoming more comfortable in the simple dresses she wore to work.

The afternoon she had walked out of Charles' life, Isabella wasted no time in offering Esme a job at the diner. She had nearly declined, knowing Isabella liked to run things herself and didn't take in enough money to warrant paying an employee, but the wizened old lady wouldn't hear of it. She claimed it would be good for Esme. It would give her something to do, and possibly help them fix up the apartment a little. They could buy some new furniture and add some soft touches that would make the place as much Esme's as it was Carlisle's.

It hadn't been easy at first to adapt to the sometimes fast pace of the diner. Esme had never worked a job that did not involve being on stage for only a few minutes every night, and she was not used to being on her feet for hours at a time. But after a few days she settled into her new position and began to thoroughly enjoy it. She was loved by every customer who came in. He cheerful personality was a breath of fresh air for many of the working men and women who frequented Isabella's diner.

Esme loved to sneak children a second piece of pie when their parents weren't watching. She always refused to accept payment, claiming it was on her and telling them they deserved a treat. She was sure Isabella had caught on, but she remained quiet, content that Esme was enjoying her work and that the customers were so enthralled with her.

Carlisle would stop by the diner every evening after coming in from the yard. Isabella would cook supper for him and Esme and usher them into a corner booth where they could enjoy their meal together in peace.

He would always stay and have coffee while Esme finished up her shift. They would walk home together where he would make love to her for hours, no matter how tired he felt. It made Esme smile to think of the way he worshiped her body and could never seem to get enough.

Late one night in that first week, Carlisle held her in his arms, the sheets tangled around them, and he confessed to her his fears that she would run from him while he was visiting her at the club. He had been so taken with her and was so determined to fix the damage that Charles and even the men before him had inflicted on her. It had terrified him to think she might not be willing to listen to him.

She had taken his face in her hands, kissed him, and told him she loved him and she wasn't going anywhere.

She learned about his family during those late nights, and how he had come to the life they now shared.

Just as Isabella had told her, his father worked in the yards before Carlisle was even born. Carlisle's father was Irish and his mother was English, both immigrants. He told her how difficult it was being Irish in their neighborhood, growing up. He explained that his mother was adamant that he stay in school and get a proper education, although everyone knew no one could afford to send him to college. Her reasoning had been that it might at least get him out of the slums. He had figured out early on that being the son of an Irish immigrant meant he had no prospects beyond the life he in which he'd been raised, but he kept his mother's wish as long as possible.

It broke Esme's heart to hear that his mother succumbed to disease when Carlisle was barely a teenager. He tried as hard as he could to resist his father's demands that Carlisle join him in the yards. He held his mother's wish over his father's head for a year until he was finally forced to submit.

Esme shuddered in his arms as Carlisle recounted how his father took to the drink shortly after his wife's death. He discovered one night that Carlisle had begun gambling in the bars and lying about his age in order to save money in the hopes of eventually going off to college. He apparently had accumulated quite a lot of debt instead, and his father's anger got the best of him. He beat Carlisle into submission one night in an alcohol fueled rage, and the next morning he was given a job in New York's largest meat-packing facility, all hope of school forgotten.

He was only thirteen years old.

Esme wiped tears from her eyes as she listened to him describe the jobs he was forced to do, the treatment he received from the other workers, and the continued disapproval of his father.

When his father died in an accident at the yards, Carlisle followed in his footsteps and took to the drink, he told her. He wasn't proud of it, but several resulting bar fights led to him being placed in his current position in the canning room. He assured her he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since, but he was paying heavily for his mistakes now.

After bearing his soul and the darkest parts of his past to her, Carlisle told Esme he would understand if she wanted to leave.

"I love you, Carlisle," she said. "There's nothing you could ever do that would make me leave you."

**oOoOoOo**

A week after that night, Esme was working behind the counter at the diner when Alice walked in, a large smile on her face.

Esme dropped the rag she was wiping the counter with and ran to embrace her friend. Alice was the only person from her old life that Esme was unwilling to let go of. Alice had always stood by her and offered her love and support during Esme's relationship with Charles. Until Carlisle came into her life, Alice was the only person who paid attention long enough to notice what Charles was doing to Esme.

Esme would be forever grateful to her for never giving up.

Alice ordered a light lunch for herself and sat at the counter, recounting all the gossip from the club. Esme wasn't sure why, but it fascinated her to hear Alice's stories even though that part of her life was long gone.

According to Alice, the night of Esme's departure Charles had immediately taken an interest in one of the newer girls at the club, Tanya. He let her sing that night, and Alice said she saw him take her into his office after the show.

Esme rolled her eyes at the news. It had once been her who was given a chance to sing and then invited into his office under the guise of working out the terms of her employment. Needless to say, not much talking was ever done in Charles' office when a woman was with him.

Esme smiled when Alice finished with her daily gossip. "Oh, Alice, I don't know what I would do with you anymore."

"You are so much happier, Esme. I love the changes I've seen in you. It's amazing what Carlisle has done for you."

"Find someone who loves you for who you are, Alice. That is all it takes to have happiness."

A commotion on the sidewalk interrupted their conversation. They both looked up to see several people on the street talking animatedly and Tanya rushing into the club with tears streaming down her face.

Alice turned to look at Esme, confusion clear on her face. They both rushed across the street toward the crowd that had gathered.

"Tanya, what happened?" Alice asked.

"You want to know what happened? You _really_ want to know?" Her voice was rising to near hysteria, and Esme was shocked by the menacing way Tanya glared at her. They weren't even acquainted. Esme had only seen her a few times and had never spoken to her.

"Charles is dead!" she screamed. "And it's all because of you!" Esme eyes widened when Tanya pointed directly at her.

She couldn't even process the fact that a man she had once loved was gone. How was it her fault? It wasn't possible.

"Tanya, you need to take a deep breath and calm down," Alice said. "Now what happened?"

"He told me this morning he was going to the yards on business. I knew he was going to confront that man you whored yourself to," she said, looking straight at Esme. "Before long there's a man on my doorstep telling me he's dead."

Esme's head spun.

_He went to confront Carlisle?_

She had to get out of there. Her heart raced as she thought over every possibility. Had there been a fight between them? Was Carlisle hurt?

Alice saw the panic in Esme's face. "You need to go, Esme. You need to go to him."

Esme nodded and ran across the street. She didn't even bother to tell Isabella where she was going. She ran as far as she could toward the yards, and when she was just two blocks away she saw him.

He was leaning against a building with his cap in his hands.

She was instantly reminded of the night they met. But this time, instead of being happy to see her, his face fell when he looked up.

Esme flew into his arms. Nothing mattered to her in that moment other than the fact that he was still alive and appeared uninjured.

"You shouldn't be here, Esme. You shouldn't be here." His voice betrayed his words. He was desperate for her to be there.

"Is it true?" Her voice was frantic as she clung to him.

"He fell, Esme."

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

He shook his head. "He yelled and screamed, called you names I'll never repeat, and threatened me, but he never got close enough to touch me. In his anger he didn't watch his footing and fell from the walkway onto the cutting room floor. His neck was broken. He didn't suffer."

"I don't care if he didn't suffer," Esme said in disgust. "He should have for everything he's done over the years. The depth of his crimes went far beyond abusing me. There were illegal business dealings as well. He deserves to rot in hell forever."

"Esme, calm down, darling. Please." Carlisle's voice was pleading and it broke through the haze of hatred Esme felt. "It's over, beautiful. He'll never hurt you or anyone else again."

She nodded. "I know." She shuddered. "He was seeing someone new already. Alice told me he brought her into the club the day I left. I'm sure he was already quite familiar with her. I'm not sad he's gone, but I hate that he almost got close enough to hurt you."

Her voice was hard, even as she recognized that none of it mattered anymore. It was done. She was free.

Carlisle rubbed her jaw with his thumb and kissed her softly.

"Do you have to go back to work?" she asked.

He shook his head. "The boss told me to go home for the day. I tried to work but I admit I was shaken by the confrontation. He told me to report back tomorrow morning at sunrise."

She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. "Can we go home now?"

He took her hand in his and led her down the street toward their small apartment. Esme was shaken to the core, but at the same time she knew that she need never fear a man again. She had been through so much in her life, and for the first time ever she was truly happy.

She had always dreamed of finding her prince charming and now he was beside her – holding her hand and leading her back to where she belonged.

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><p><strong>Thank you to Mackenzie L for editing this and kr2009 for pre-reading.<strong>

**Thank you so much for reading as always. I hope you enjoyed my little story. And if you haven't gotten a chance yet go check out my new one-shot Le Mascherata.**


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